What happens when you add the weapons branch of the government, an experiment and an eight year old girl? ME! A twelve year old serial killer with a thirst for blood. (Rated T for blood, gore, language, and just killing of people in general. Some disturbing themes.)

**If you decide you don't like this story please tell me why. It would be very much appreciated. All you have to do is say two or three words even. I'm desperate to know what's wrong with my writing.

***This story has begun to go through some revisions. It's gotten that bad. You may find that I'll be changing moods temporarily in the middle of a paragraph, the usual typos etc.

Before reading this story the reader should keep in mind that it is ratedT because it contains no suggestive themes and doesn't contain much language (Most of it is censored anyways.) but is rated T only because of the twisted, violent and gory nature of the original version. (I'm not kidding about that. The first few months of this idea's formation had the girl in it be about 10 years old and dissect living people for fun. That was many years ago and that has been taken out along with many other factors.) Also keep in mind that the main characor had been trained and genetically engineered to enjoy killing etc. She is basically a superhuman horror show freak.

Chapter 1: A Simple Task... or not.

The chill of the fresh snow had began to rap around my arms and freeze my breath into curling, white fog. No one would bother me. That was almost a certainty. No one had even talked to me in a non-business way for several months. I was bored simply waiting for some kind of buisness to turn up for me but had no luck for several weeks.

I wasn't average in any way you could imagine. I wasn't even human. Well, technically I was but barely. I looked normal except for a single scar that made its infestation across my left shoulder-blade and curled over my collarbone. It was one of those nasty white ones that the bad guys always had in movies.

However, I will avoid boring you with anymore crap that you probably don't care about and tell you my story. A story of how a normal happy little girl had turned cold with a chill set so deep in her core that the smell of warm cookies or a hand knit sweater or even a great big hug would never even see. I was the nightmare that had become every person's dreams in the city of Ransford. No one could catch me because I was said to be nothing more than an urban legend the cops had made up as an excuse to cover up the cases they couldn't solve. That's what outsiders thought.

I had done work for every kind of person you could think of and I was about to get more.

More than likely you've had the experience of having a cell phone go off in dead silence. That awkward out of place feeling it gives you. I always got that sensation. I was used to the silence of the woods or the few calm sounds they had during the spring and through the fall. Either way I quickly answered. Remember that I had told you I was waiting for business? This is how I got it, usually.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Are you Servester?" asked a young voice on the other end.

"Yes," I replied.

"I think I have some business that may interest you." His voice had a cold tone to it that I commonly heard from someone who had been thinking of revenge for weeks or occasionally years. Not the kind of voice you like to hang out around.

"How may I be of service?" I asked trying to be casual about it but being unable to surpress the excitement that had started to pool inside. I expected it to be the usual get in, do a clean job, and not say anything once I had been paid. Such was what people prefered.

"I need you to get information from someone."

"Who?"

"A girl named Lucy Bates. I don't want you to harm her though." That confused me.

"Why?"

"She's a child."

"So?"

"Whatever's wrong with you, I don't wanna know but I need the information that she has."

"How much will you pay me?" I couldn't take up a job that was out of my specialty without a good price. There was a pause before I heard his voice again.

"1,500 dollars in advance and an additional 2,000 when you complete it." I had done worse for less.

"I need more information than just a name."

"She goes to Ransford Public School. She's in the 6th grade. Takes band, chorus, and plays soccer. Other than that I know her parents are deceased and she is the only surviving person who knows a combination for a safe buried just inside the woods."

Him not knowing why she had not yet opened the safe or no one had tried to break into it before was a clear pointer that he was not from Ransford or any of the surrounding area. The only woods were MY woods. I had taken them over and people had learned to stay away at all costs.

"You're not from the area are you?" I asked.

"No. Why?" he asked in a puzzled voice.

"I can get you the safe but I'll have to kill you if you try to get it yourself."

"Why?"

"Because if you ask a local they will tell you that no one goes into my woods and makes it out alive," I couldn't help a small smile when I said this. It was a true fact.

"Whatever. Just get it done."

There you have it. How I got an extraordinarily huge royal pain in the a** of a job. You see, the only way I could remember ever getting information from another person was through torture. My social skills had degraded until they were almost non-existent. He was asking me to get information in a completely different way which was more than likely going to end in disaster.

"Is there anything else?" I asked wanting to get a job like this done as fast as possible.

"No," he said and I hung up. That may seem rude but I didn't care. It's not like he was a friend of mine.

I slid from the branch that I was perched on and landed heavily on top of the bright red leaves. The grey tree trunks around me guided me through till I was in front of an old factory. Long since forgotten, it was in good shape. The roof might leak but it was good shelter. It even had two separate underground floors underneath. I wasn't sure what it had made but only half the equipment remained and I had dragged it into a corner the first couple nights.

I slipped to the first underground floor where I lived. It had a very basic setup. One couch off to the side next to a bookcase. Next to that a desk had a laptop on it. I picked it up and headed over to a bare wall. Setting down the computer, I pulled out a pocket knife and wedged it in between some of the cracks. A piece was easy to pry out and behind the electrical working had been ripped out leaving a small space in which I could stash things I didn't want someone who happened upon my home to see. I picked up my favorite. A long knife the length of my forearm. It had a slight curve so it fitted cozily against my side and was pretty much unnoticeable underneath my sweatshirt. It had a twin but that one was difficult to sharpen and was always duller.

I could see my reflection on the blade. My long, untrimmed black hair fell over my eyes concealing them. I could push my bangs out of the way but I chose not to. I smiled. The memories my knives held would be twisted and horrifying to anyone else who saw them, but to me they were the sweet moments in life.

That was what I had become in a science lab. A twisted, cruel little girl.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.